This week I have lived in shadows...

In the shadows I remember the homeless man with one hand open and outstretched, and the other tightly grasping the neck of a brown paper bag.

In the shadows I remember the formation of words into sentences into paragraphs into chapters into a good read that falls somewhere between a pleasant productive escape and an indelibly influential, transcendent journey.

In the shadows I remember the simple smell of roasting garlic; the unexpected wave and the salt-spluttering exclamation of surprised joy; the dawning realization that "this" is not so serious.

In the shadows I remember the first hill from the first row of the first car and the anticipatory lurching of the climb inevitably followed by the palpitating thump of the sudden drop into apparent nothingness.

In the shadows I remember three c-sections; the freight-train roar of Hurricane Katrina; Christmas morning; a secret smile; the carefree squeals of my children as they were tossed in the air.

In the shadows I remember the juicy exuberance of the fresh-off-the-vine tomato contrasted by the stoic shaker of salt and the crisp sizzle of the midday sun on the back of my neck.

In the shadows I remember the uncontrollable spinning; the never-ending battle with consequential insignificance; the dawning realization that I don't know exactly what "this" is, yet still I am working to save the world.

In the shadows I remember the fiery, early-morning, pink-red-orange fingers reaching from below the horizon as if to wrest darkness from all corners.

In the shadows I remember poison ivy, chiggers, and a warm salt bath; the paddleboats, and the go carts; the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina; the unexpected laugh; broken bones and the prolific pain of futility; the magic of music.

In the shadows I remember the significance of tears; noise; the calming influence of lush greens and brilliant blues; the awe and amazement and utter coolness of lying awake, very still, and watching the monitor as the cardiologist implanted Stents #5, 6, and 7.

In the shadows I remember the formation of one step into another step into another step into a city block into a mile into a country mile into a five-mile illuminating meditative journey.

In the shadows I remember the dawning realization that "this" is serious; the simple smell of toasting almonds; the taste of friendly gumbo; the wealthy man with one hand open and outstretched, and the other tightly grasping my neck.

In the shadows I remember that shadows are shaped by light.